No answer.
I pulled the trigger–_click_–empty chamber.
Chick balled up, quaking–
Pull the trigger–_click_–empty chamber.
Quaking/snitch-begging eyes: “They said they needed a strongarm place, so I said take this place, Sid and his crew were editing their stag stuff, so this place was empty.”
“Did they tell you they were making their own movie?”
“No! They said ‘strongarm spot’! That’s all they said!”
“Who developed their film? Did someone on Mickey’s movie crew help them out?”
“No! Frizell and his guys are fucking clowns! They don’t know anybody except Side 195
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me!”
“Who’s been running you?”
“No, Davey, please!”
I put the gun to the mattress–next to his head. “Who are THEY?”
“NO! I CAN’T! I WON’T!”
I pulled the trigger–_click_/_click_/_roar_–muzzle flash set his hair on fire.
This scream.
This huge hand snuffing flames out–stretching huge to quash that scream.
A whisper:
“We’ll stash him at one of your buildings. You do what you have to do, and I’ll watchdog him. We’ll work an angle on his money, and sooner or later he’ll spill.”
Smoke. Mattress debris settling.
Chick torched half-bald.
EVERYTHING SPINNING.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Back to L.A.–Pete’s car solo– pay-phone stops en route.
I broke it to Glenda: you’re nailed for Dwight Gilette. She said, “Oh, shit” and hatched a plan: she’d bus it to Fresno, hide out with an old carhop pal.
Phone-tap panic hit me–I spieled her through the checkout procedure. Glenda pulled wires and checked diodes–no tap on her line.
Her goodbye: “We’re too good-looking to lose.”
Jack Woods–three no-answers–Meg ditto. A booth outside the Bureau, luck–Jack just walked in. I told him the Feds fucked me: grab Meg, grab our money, GO.
“Okay, Dave”–no goodbye.
I ran up to Ad Vice. A clerk’s slip on my desk: “Call Meg. Important.”
My In box, my Out box–no new Herrick field reports. I checked my desk–the Kafesjian/Herrick case file was gone.
The phone rang–
“Yeah?”
“Boss, it’s Riegle.”
“Yeah?”
“Come on, you assigned me to a stakeout, remember? The storage locker place, you told me-”
“Yeah, I remember. Is this routine, or something good?”
Miffed: “I got you twelve hours of DMV-certified squarejohns and one interesting bit.”
“So tell me.”
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“_So_, a guy went in, then ran back to his car looking spooked. _So_, I got his plate number and checked him out, and I thought he looked sort of familiar.
_So_, Richard Carlisle, you know him? He’s LAPD, and I think he works for Dudley Smith.”
Soft clicks.
“Boss, are you–”
I cradled the phone down, soft clicks building: Dick Carlisle–fur-job detective.
Dick Carlisle-Mike Breuning’s partner.
1 1/51–Breuning dead-ends a juvie B&E. Obvious perps: Tommy K., Richie Herrick.
My Kafesjian/Herrick case file–missing.
I walked down the hall to Personnel. File request slips on the clerk’s desk–for Division COs only.
I braced the clerk:
Michael Breuning, Richard Carlisle-get me their folders. “Yes, sir,” ten minutes, folders out–“not to leave the room.”
Carlisle–Previous Employment–no clicks.
Breuning–movie click–Wilshire Film Processing, developing technician–’37–’39–pre-LAPD.
Click–soft, circumstantial.
1:00 A.M.–back to Ad Vice. Stray thoughts: Pete guarding Chick at my El Segundo vacant.
Chick:
“THEY.”
Afraid to say “Kafesjian.”
Afraid to snitch they/THEM/who?
That message slip: “Call Meg. Important.”
Circumstantial–prickles up my short hairs.
Meg at Jack’s–worth a try. Three rings–Jack, edgy: “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Background noise: high heels tapping. Jack said, “She’s here. She’s taking it pretty well, maybe just a little bit nervous.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?”
“Right. We’ll hit the banks early, withdraw the cash and get bank drafts. Then we’re going to drive down to Del Mar, open some new accounts and find a place.
You want to talk to her?”
_Tap tap_–Meg pacing–high heels made her stocking seams bunch. “No. Tell her it’s just goodbye for now, and ask her what the message was.”
_Tap, tap_, low voices. Footsteps, Jack: “Meg said she’s got a partial trace on that building in Lynwood.”
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“And?”
“She found some property evaluation reports in that storage basement at the City Hall. What she’s got is a 1937 report listing Phillip Herrick and a Dudley L.
Smith as bidders on 4980 Spindrift. Hey, you think that’s _the_ Dudley Smith?”